


In the Jungle

by marieadriana



Series: ARROW, Inc. [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, Gen, Near Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marieadriana/pseuds/marieadriana
Summary: Clint and Natasha crash land in the jungle, and must find a way to get both themselves and their intel out. (Takes place in June 2010)





	1. Hang on to something!

“Nat! Brace yourself!”

Clint’s warning came a half breath before the jet was rocked by an incoming weapon blast. She clung to the co-pilot’s seat, trying to get back into a position to help, while Clint’s hands flew across the console. “Shit! We’re not flying out of here. If I don’t land now…” he trailed off, watching his instruments. “Land, hell. I’ll be lucky to crash,” he continued, still talking to himself.

Natasha maneuvered back into the seat, snugging the safety straps around her. “We going down?” she asked calmly.

Clint’s eyes flicked to her briefly. “Yeah. Hold on.” With the last reluctant power in its engines, the jet darted toward a thick patch of jungle. “Gonna try and land in a soft spot…” Clint murmured.

The impact knocked Clint out of his seat and safety restraints, tossing him about the cabin. Natasha clung to her seat, waited for the craft’s movements to stop, and unbuckled herself, moving towards Clint. “You hurt?” He was crumpled against one wall of the cabin, legs splayed and head lolling.

Clint’s response was a low moan. “Yeah,” he said, and bit his lip. “Yeah, Tash. I can’t feel my legs.”

Natasha’s hands, already moving to adjust his position, froze. “Not at all?” she asked.

“Nope. Back hurts. Think I cracked it against the bulkhead. Nat, you need to get out of here,” he told her firmly. “Take the intel back to SHIELD. You’ll have to get out on foot, and you can’t use the comms, you’ll be intercepted. Coulson needs that data. There are agents’ lives at risk.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Natasha told him shortly. “I don’t care about other agents.” I care about you, she added to herself, although she was not going to say that aloud. It was bad enough she’d allowed herself to think it – saying it would give it legitimacy. 

“You’ve got to,” Clint pleaded. His hands still worked, he was relieved to note, and he reached out to stroke her hair back from her face. It was an intimate gesture, one he’d never indulged in before. “I’m not walking out of here, Tasha. You’re good, but you can’t carry me out of the Amazon. You’ve got to take that intel and get the hell out of here, before the cartel comes to investigate the crash. I need to know you’ve gotten out, Tash.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she repeated. Her throat was tight and she didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. He was right, the intel was important – lives did hang in the balance, and she knew a delay could put more at risk. But she couldn’t force herself to leave. He didn’t stand a chance, if she left. The cartel would find him and kill him – if he didn’t die from his injuries before being found.

“Yes, you are,” he argued, and there was a flicker of humor in his eyes that nearly undid her. “I know you’d rather argue about it, but you know I’m right. This time. I need you to do this for me, Tash. This isn’t really the time or place to say it, but I gotta. I love you, Nat, and have for a long time. I know you don’t like the word and you don’t like emotions but it’s the truth.” He focused on her, forcing her to maintain eye contact through sheer willpower. “I need my partner to get the woman I love out of here, and take her home to my family. Can you do that for me, Nat?”

Tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she wiped them away irritably. “I love you too, you idiot,” she told him. “That’s why I can’t leave.” She would have continued, but the tears wouldn’t stop, and she buried her head in her hands to hide them from him. “I can’t do this without you,” she whispered. She was afraid to touch him, afraid to make his pain greater or do further injury. She settled for touching her fingertips to his face, feather-light.

In the six months since she’d met the White Druid, Natasha had never envied Catriona’s powers. Now, she’d have traded decades from her life to be able to heal Clint as Catriona had healed her. She had no idea if the druid would be able to help Clint – or if it was even acceptable to ask. She closed her eyes, pushing her mind down towards Gaia, not sure if she’d be able to make a connection through the metal of the jet. She had to try. 

{Gaia?}

\\\M’inion Nat, Catriona Alanna is already en route,// came the immediate reply. \\\She will be there momentarily. And yes, m’inion, it is appropriate to ask. He is your achroi ghra, and for that alone would I grant him aid. As it stands, Catriona is also going to offer him to join my service. He is a strong warrior, and his heart is full.//

Natasha sank into the floor of the jet, almost sick with relief. “Help is coming,” she said to Clint, her hands shaking as she needlessly brushed hair off his forehead.

“From where?” Clint demanded. “Nat, you didn’t use your comm, did you? I told you they’d intercept—“

“I’m not stupid,” she informed him tartly. “I have… alternative methods.” She realized she’d never gotten around to explaining Catriona and Gaia, and wondered how much more complicated that was going to make the next half hour.

“Like what? Smoke signals? Nat, you haven’t done anything but sit there,” Clint argued. He gestured vaguely with one hand and winced as it pulled at an unseen injury.

“Ah, but she’s been speaking to our Mistress whilst she’s been sitting there, my dear archer,” Catriona said from the rear of the cabin. “And our Mistress has sent me, to aid in your healing. Your death would cause far too much grief for my achara, so I am here to prevent it.”

Clint glared at the newcomer. “How the hell did you get in here?” he demanded.

Natasha rose, stepped swiftly to Catriona, and wrapped her up in a hug that was both affectionate and desperate. “I think his back is broken,” Natasha whispered to the druid.

Catriona returned the embrace, running a soothing hand over Natasha’s hair. “All will be well, achara. I have healed worse. Did Great Mother also tell you I was to make him the offer?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered, releasing Catriona finally. Clint was staring at them. With the exception of his sister-in-law and her children, he’d never seen Natasha be physically affectionate. 

“What the fuck is going on?” he demanded.

Catriona lifted an eyebrow at Natasha and sighed. “You haven’t told him.”

“It never seemed the right time,” Natasha answered, shrugging.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here! Somebody tell me what is going on!”

With a comforting smile, Catriona moved towards him, her white robe making soft noises against the floor of the cabin. She knelt at his side and took his hand in her own. “As there is no bomb set to go off, and you are not in danger of exsanguination, I would like to explain before I begin your healing.” She flickered an amused glance at Natasha, who knelt on Clint’s opposite side. In a patient tone, Catriona introduced herself, explained her relationship to Gaia, and Natasha’s own acceptance of service to the Goddess.

Clint tried to keep the incredulity off his face, but Natasha saw through him. “I know it’s hard to believe,” she murmured. Unzipping a side seam of her catsuit, Natasha showed him the unmarred skin of her abdomen. “There were two gunshot wounds here, Clint. Perforated intestine. Who knows what other internal injuries. And I walked out of there.”

“Ruptured spleen, damaged liver, damaged kidney,” Catriona murmured. “Fractured pelvis. Cracked vertebrae.”

Natasha glared at her. “You didn’t tell me it was that bad.”

“There was no reason to,” Catriona answered easily. “And you didn’t ask.”

Clint snorted. “She probably just glared at you and expected you to tell her everything.”

Catriona laughed, and Clint blinked. Her speaking voice was pleasant, but her laugh was almost… musical. And the freedom with which she laughed… it reminded him of Laura.

“She reminds me of Laura also,” Natasha said with a half-smile. Clint wasn’t surprised that she’d followed his train of thought.

“There is one more thing…” Catriona began. “Something that did not come up with you, Natasha. I have spoken of the bond between you two. Gaia told me that She referred to Clint as your achroi ghra. I believe that, were Clint to accept Gaia’s offer, the bond between you would be transmuted to something more… powerful.”

“What bond?” Clint asked, at the same time Natasha demanded “What’s an achroi ghra?”

Catriona smiled softly. “Natasha knows this, but I will explain it for you. I, as a Druid, can see the connections between people. It is like seeing the weaving of threads between two souls. The deeper the connection, the more complex the weaving becomes. For many, it’s as simple as a few knots. For others, such as the two of you… it is a complex tapestry. Which leads me to define achroi ghra for you, Natasha. Though not a perfect translation, it essentially means your heart-love, your romantic love. That Gaia has remarked upon this union confirms my suspicions; you would bond to each other as well as to our Mistress.”

Natasha was still, hardly breathing. Clint reached over for her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. “Talk to me, Nat,” he asked quietly.

“Would it be like it is with Gaia? The mind reading? Telepathy?” Natasha asked Catriona.

“It is similar, I am told,” Catriona confirmed. “I have not experienced it myself so can give you no first-hand knowledge, but it is much written about in Druidic texts. You would experience some thought sharing, emotion sharing – both of these would be hampered somewhat by distance. You would know when each other are in mortal danger and… should one of you die, the other would know. It would not kill the surviving partner,” Catriona hastened to add when Clint paled. “It is just that you would be certain whether they still lived – which can be useful, when you are in dangerous situations. Some couples also experience a kind of compass effect, allowing them to locate their bondmate. That is less common, but it could happen.”

“There’s very few people on the planet that I’d be willing to do this with,” Natasha said, looking at Clint. “You’re one of them.”

“Phil the other?” Clint asked.

“Yes,” Natasha replied.

“Good. Me too,” Clint told her with an impish grin.

Natasha chuckled, but it faded quickly. “Are you willing to do this? With me?” she asked, looking down at their joined hands. “There’s a lot of… bad memories, bad thoughts in my head. I’d understand if you don’t want to share them. It's a high price to pay.”

“I’ll do it,” Clint told Catriona. “I’ll serve Gaia.” His voice was firm, and Natasha squeezed his hand tightly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nat. I’ve got just as many shadows as you do. Your past won’t scare me away. Being able to talk to you in a way that can’t be intercepted or overheard? Being able to actually know what you’re feeling, instead of guessing? That’s not a price, that’s a fucking gift.”

If Natasha hadn’t already admitted that she loved the cocky bastard, his fierce declaration would have forced her hand.

“So, what now, druid-lady?” Clint asked, his humor in fine fettle despite the pain in his body.

“Just rest,” Catriona told him, and touched her fingers to his forehead. They trailed down his body, never putting pressure but always touching. She paused in places, and Clint swore he felt heat pouring out through her fingertips. When she reached his toes, she gave one a hearty squeeze and he yanked it away from her.

“What was that for?” he demanded. Catriona smiled, and gestured at his bent leg.

“Reflex test,” the druid answered impishly. “Be glad I pinched and did not tickle.”

“That’s – how – but –“ and for one of the very few times in their acquaintance, Natasha was treated to a speechless Clint. 

She rose from his side, stepped over him, and embraced Catriona again. She clung, though she hoped that Clint was too distracted to notice that. Catriona soothed her gently, murmuring nonsensical phrases in both English and Gaelic. “Your achroi ghra is healed, he has joined us in Her service, and you have spoken of your feelings. All is well, achara.”

“Thank you,” Natasha whispered, her face still hidden in the mass of Catriona’s curls.

Clint, who seemed to have regained his composure, stared at the two women. {Nat? You’re hugging the strange Irish lady. I didn’t even know you knew how to hug adults. Are you crying?} He leapt to his feet, striding towards them and wrapping his arms around Natasha protectively.

Natasha laughed weakly, shifting her arms to Clint, her head dropping onto his shoulder. {Catriona is my friend,} she told him. There was a wash of emotions that accompanied her statement and Clint couldn’t untangle them all, but he caught her sense of surprise at Catriona’s unflinching acceptance.

“I know that the two of you have much to speak of – or rather, not speak of – but I must introduce Clint to our Mistress before I can leave you,” Catriona interrupted regretfully.

“How are you planning to get out?” Clint asked, shifting his arms around Natasha until it looked more like a casual embrace than the desperate grasp he wanted.

“The same way I came in,” Catriona answered with another mischievous smile. “Unfortunately, it isn’t a path you can follow.”

“Any chance you could stick with us, until we get out of hostile territory?” Clint asked.

Catriona’s headshake was almost violent. “No.” Her verbal answer was as firm as her body language. “I am no warrior. None of the Gifts the Goddess grants me give me physical protection from or a means to do violence.”

“Breathe, achara,” Natasha told her. The Gaelic endearment slid off her tongue easily, as though she’d used it a thousand times. She was fairly certain it was the first time she’d said it aloud, but it felt as right in her mouth as ‘M’inion Nat’ felt in her mind.

“I am sorry,” Catriona apologized. She averted her eyes, staring in the direction of the floor. “Once, many centuries ago, Gaia’s Druids waged battle beside Her Warriors. It… did not end well.” Catriona shook her head slowly, old grief returning. “It is one of the reasons there are so few Druids left, and I the only female still bound to Her.”

“No shame in being a non-combatant,” Clint reassured her blithely. He clapped her on the shoulder in a comradely fashion and smiled. “For every field agent at SHIELD, there’s at least three more who never leave their offices. We need them as much as they need us.”

“Thank you,” Catriona said, letting her eyes meet his and smiling softly. “I would not have you think me a coward. I… would like to be friends.”

“I’m pretty sure the woman who made it possible for me to walk again qualifies as a friend,” Clint told her.

“Let me introduce you to Gaia, so that you can go about your business,” Catriona said, smiling at the two warriors. “Come.” She gestured to the rear hatch. “We must touch the ground to do this.”

It took some brute force, but Natasha and Clint finally forced the hatch open and stepped out into the muggy jungle. Natasha immediately toed off her boots and sank her toes into the damp earth, giving a sigh of contentment as she felt Gaia’s presence.

Clint, after some prodding from Catriona, removed his own footwear and moved to stand next to Natasha. His hand crept to hers but she didn’t move away, merely squeezing it and giving him a smile.

“Now what?” Clint asked.

\\\I supposed it should not surprise me, that your first words to me are the same as your bondmate’s,// Gaia responded with good humor. \\\Greetings, my archer. Welcome to my service.//

{Thank you, Great Mother, for sending Catriona to us,} Natasha said humbly. Clint was not sure which surprised him more: that he could hear her despite her words being directed at the Goddess, or that she could sound humble. {Thank you for his life. And mine.}

\\\You are welcome, m’inion. It is my pleasure to provide aid to my Warriors, and those they love. I am glad for the chance to bring the archer into my service.//

Clint’s mind was bursting with questions, but he couldn’t seem to hold on to any one thought long enough to ask it. Beside him, he felt Natasha’s steady presence, the precise order of her thoughts, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. {This is a bit overwhelming,} he admitted to both Natasha and the Goddess.

{It gets easier,} Natasha promised him. {I’ve been speaking to Great Mother daily for six months. I only occasionally feel like I have to grovel on my knees to be worthy of it, these days.}

Clint’s snort was automatic, but it did serve to relax some of the tension he was feeling. “Thanks, Nat,” he said aloud, and squeezed her hand.

\\\For today, I should like to have you choose a name by which I may refer to you. You may discuss this with your achroi ghra, if you like.//

{Like that name you call her? What is it? Minion Nat?}

{M’inion Nat,} Natasha corrected.

\\\It means ‘my daughter,’// Gaia explained. \\\I call my druid Catriona Alanna, which is her name and the word for child.//

Clint didn’t really want to be called child, or son. His memories of his childhood weren’t pleasant. He particularly didn’t want to be called anything that might have come out of Barney’s mouth.

\\\Your codename? Hawkeye?//

That was better, but it still didn’t feel right. He liked being Hawkeye, liked being Agent Barton, but it wasn’t his whole being.

{I told her I liked being Auntie Nat,} Natasha told him. {That’s part of how we wound up at my name. Do you want to be called Uncle Clint?}

{I liked it when you called me your archer. What is archer in Gaelic?}

\\\That would be boghdoir,// Gaia answered. It sounded like ‘bough-deer’ to Clint, but he liked that it also sounded similar to Barton.

{Boghdoir Barton?} Clint suggested hopefully.

{I like it,} Natasha said, smiling at him.

\\\As do I, my archer. Boghdoir Barton it shall be. Now, I shall leave you to commune with your bondmate. You would do well to join her in her daily talks with me, and to begin a similar strength regimen. Should you have need of me, you need only ask.// There was a pause while the Goddess seemed to debate her words before continuing. \\\It has been many centuries since I have had a bonded pair both sworn to me as Warriors. It is a precious gift. It pleases me to know that neither of you are fighting alone, now.//

{Thank you, Great Mother,} Natasha said, her hand squeezing Clint’s.

{Thanks, Big Mama,} Clint echoed, and then froze in place waiting to see if he’d offended their Goddess.

Gaia’s reply was amused. \\\You are an imp, Boghdoir, but at least you are a good-hearted one. Fare thee well, my Warriors.//

The sense of Her presence faded, and left Clint and Natasha feeling somewhat foolish, holding hands while sunk ankle deep in the jungle floor.

Natasha pulled her feet out of the mud and grabbed a handful of leaves to clean them off. “So. That’s Gaia,” she told Clint.

“And what name was chosen?” Catriona asked, stepping forward to help Natasha back into the jet.

“Boghdoir Barton,” Clint told her. “It means—”

Catriona smiled, a little sadly. “I know what it means, achara. Gaelic was my first language.”

“Ah. Sorry,” he apologized, giving her a sideways smile. “Get the feeling I stepped in more than mud, there.”

“It was a long time ago,” Catriona told him. She offered him a hand as well, and assisted them in closing the hatch once more. “While you were speaking with Great Mother, I thought of a way which I can help you, that will not require violence on my part.”

“I’m all for that,” Clint said with a grin. As was their usual habit, Natasha had fallen silent, content to let Clint charm the people around them.

“If you prepare a message that I can carry, I can deliver it and the information you obtained to your handler. I can find him easily enough, and you will be able to convince him through your message that I am not a threat. That will give you time to bond more properly and to leave this area safely, rather than in haste.” She smiled broadly. “I truly would like the chance to meet this Coulson of yours, and Great Mother has no objections to my playing messenger.”

{Coulson will eat her alive,} Natasha thought in Clint’s direction.

{Nah. He’s got a thing for redheads. She’ll be fine.} He winked at Natasha. “We’ll write something up.” Clint started rifling through supplies, doing an absurd victory dance when he located paper and pen. “Alright now…” he dropped into the pilot’s chair, propped the notebook up on his knee, and tried to write. After a moment or two, he threw up his hands helplessly. “Nat, you got any idea how to explain this?”

Natasha shook her head, a rueful half-smile on her face. “If I did, you’d have heard about it six months ago,” she told him.

~ * ~


	2. Don't Shoot the Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson meets Catriona; Clint and Natasha begin their trek home.

Agent Phil Coulson was halfway through a routine incident report when, in one movement, he stood from his desk, drew his sidearm, and pointed it at the woman now standing just inside his locked office door. “You have three seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t pull this trigger,” he informed her.

Catriona raised both hands, the sleeves of her robe falling away from her forearms. “Natasha said I’m supposed to tell you that I know what happened in Budapest.”

One eyebrow lifted, but the tension in his stance eased somewhat. “And do you know what happened in Budapest?” he asked levelly.

The petite redhead blushed. It was more than a blush, really, he reflected. With her complexion, it was like someone had turned a pink stage-light on her. Yes, he thought. A reaction like that meant she probably did know.

“Natasha gave me the basics,” she said, trying to hide her embarrassment. “But Clint seems to like the shade I turn when he discusses certain… topics.”

Coulson wanted to grin. He was rather fond of the shade she’d turned himself, and he could guess that Clint would find teasing her irresistible. He reholstered his weapon and gestured to the chairs across his desk. “Please, come in.”

She approached his desk, moving as silently as he’d ever seen Natasha move, and reached into one sleeve. She produced a folded piece of paper and a hard drive. “My name is Catriona O’Clare,” she introduced herself with the slightest hint of a curtsey. “I am a friend of Natasha and Clint. They were… delayed upon their return. Though I was unable to assist their exit, I am pleased to serve as messenger for them.” She laid the items on the desk and stepped back.

“Do you mind if I…?” he gestured to the items.

“Please. Natasha said the information is important, and Clint was worried that you would… react impulsively to their continued absence.” She tilted her head at him and smiled. “Although I get the impression you are not one to react impulsively to much of anything.”

“There are days,” he told her drily. He picked up the folded paper and opened it, reading the neatly written words quickly. When he’d finished, he refolded the note and slipped it into the top drawer of his desk. “So, you are also known as the White Druid?” Catriona hadn’t known Natasha had written that, but she nodded anyway. “Do you recall a woman named Agent Margaret Carter?”

Catriona blinked, nonplussed. “Of course. Though I knew her by another name,” she added. “Most people call her Peggy, but she was Maggie May to me, and to my Mistress. Why do you ask?”

“Agent Carter founded the organization whose headquarters you have just infiltrated,” Coulson told her with a half-smile that reminded her forcefully of Natasha. “There was mention of you in some of her old case notes.”

“Ah,” Catriona made a noise of understanding, but her mind was elsewhere. That had been a simpler time in her life, despite the war. She’d felt almost content. She’d even entertained the notion that she’d find her heart-match, that Peggy would stand as a bridesmaid in a traditional wedding ceremony… the face of her groom remained indistinct, though, and time proved her hope wrong again.

“So you’ve been vouched for by two of the most formidable women I know, and Barton. Who, despite his childish demeanor, is an excellent judge of character. What can I do for you, Miss O’Clare?” Coulson interrupted her reverie.

“I would like to stay nearby until Clint and Natasha are safe,” she told him. “I have no doubt that they can escape – and even less doubt that you will send someone or several someones to assist in their recovery – but I should like to lay eyes on them myself.” Catriona smiled ruefully. “I do not have so many friends that I can be cavalier about their welfare.”

Coulson tapped a finger against his desk thoughtfully. “Is your presence here to remain… classified?” he asked.

“It might be for the best,” Catriona answered with a sigh. “Explaining my presence would be complicated, and I fear that your Director and I have had some… clashes in the past. He will not take my arrival kindly.”

“Fortunately for you, Director Fury is not in Headquarters at this time,” Coulson told her. “If you do not object to staying in my office, I can have a meal delivered. There is also a couch – surprisingly comfortable – if you are in need of rest.”

“I am, very much so,” Catriona admitted. “A meal would also be appreciated. I have not expended quite this much energy in so brief a period in… decades, certainly. Possibly even a century,” she mused, rubbing her forehead.

Coulson rose again, pocketing the hard drive and moving to open a cabinet next to the couch. He extracted folded blankets and a pillow, which he laid on the couch. “Please, make yourself at home,” he told her, gesturing. “I’ve got to act on the intel you brought back – both what Barton and Romanoff gave you, and their location. I’ll be back when I have more information – and lunch.”

She thanked him, settling gracefully onto the couch and arranging herself for sleep. 

~ * ~

“So.” Clint said aloud. “Got a plan to get us out of here?”

{Of course,} Natasha responded silently.

“Anything more detailed than ‘let’s walk in one direction until Coulson pulls us out?’”

Natasha’s eyes flickered in amusement. {No.}

“Well, alright then.” Clint began sorting through the supplies in the jet, filling a rucksack for each of them. “You’re taking this telepathy thing pretty calmly,” he said after several minutes of silence.

“I’ve had six months to wrap my head around it,” she told him. “I was definitely not calm at first.” Through their bond, she gave him a glimpse of her feelings at the time – confusion, awe, fear, hope, and a few other emotions he couldn’t name. He also got a sense that she wasn’t entirely calm now – but not why. At his unspoken question, she rolled her eyes. “It’s not the mind reading that bothers me, Clint. It’s the whole… bond.” She glanced away, uncomfortable. 

“Do you regret it?” he asked quietly.

“No!” Her response was instantaneous and he heard it both in his mind and with his ears. “It’s just that I don’t… know how to be…” she tightened a strap on her pack with enough force that the buckle popped loose. “Damn it!”

Clint stepped next to her, covering the strap and her hands with his own. {Talk to me, Nat,} he pleaded.

{I don’t know how to love,} was her answer, so faint he had trouble making it out. {I’ve only ever pretended, as part of a cover. I’ve used love and sex as a weapon, but I’ve never done it for real.}

He pulled her against him, arm around her shoulders. {I’m not going to ask for anything you can’t give, Tasha. This freaky voodoo bond doesn’t change that. You’re still my best friend and my partner.}

{You deserve more than that,} Natasha argued. {Catriona made it sound like we’re soulmates or something. I’m betting that means no one-night-stands or dating other people. I can’t ask you to live celibate, Clint.}

{Wouldn’t change much,} he told her wryly. {Haven’t gotten laid in a year.} Her shock was evident, and he chuckled into her hair. {I stopped dating when I figured out that they all looked like you, Nat.}

{But the stories?} Natasha asked. Clint was famous – or infamous, depending on who you asked – for telling luridly graphic tales of his exploits with the fairer sex.

{Just stories,} he admitted. {Can’t let my reputation suffer, after all.}

She mulled that over. Gradually she became aware that their sides were pressed together, hip to hip, and his arm was holding her firmly in place. It should have bothered her. She didn’t like to be touched, and detested anything that even remotely resembled being restrained.

Clint’s touch didn’t bother her. She was bothered by the fact that it didn’t bother her.

The moment he felt her tense, Clint released her. {Sorry, Nat,} he apologized immediately. {I wasn’t thinking.}

{It’s okay,} she told him. She slung the rucksack onto her back and held out her hand. He settled his own pack and took her hand, eyes curious. {I want to learn. Just… I don’t know how long it will take.}

He smiled at her, and there was a gentleness in his eyes she’d only ever seen towards his niece and nephew. {Not gonna push, Nat. Not about that.} He looked around the cabin of the crashed jet. {Would kind of like to get out of here, before someone comes to see what fell out of the sky.}

Natasha’s laugh surprised both of them, but they worked to force the hatch open a final time, and set out in the direction she’d indicated in their note to Coulson.


	3. Lying in Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson and Catriona await the return of the stranded partners, while Clint and Natasha struggle with their new bond.

~ * ~

Catriona was still sleeping when Coulson quietly let himself back into his office. He set a cafeteria tray near her, piled high with food. Not wanting to disturb her rest, he retreated to his desk and resumed working on the interrupted incident report.

Several hours had passed when Coulson’s desk phone rang. Catriona woke abruptly, sitting up at the noise, but Coulson made what he hoped was a soothing gesture and answered it. “Coulson.” There was a pause as the other person spoke. “Yes, Director. I dispatched a retrieval team to Barton and Romanoff’s last known location as well as a strike team to act on the intel they provided… No, sir, Romanoff arranged for the data to reach me before their extraction… I’m sorry sir, I’m not entirely certain what method she used, but I verified – yes, sir.” Coulson hung up the phone, giving it what would have been a glare from a lesser man, and turned his attention to Catriona. “My apologies for waking you.”

“It’s hardly your fault,” Catriona waved his apology away. “And I do feel much better for the rest, though I’m not sure I will be using my Gifts to leave this building any time soon.” She shook her head and reached for the lunch tray. “Have you heard from Natasha? Or Clint?” she asked, taking care to seem nonchalant about the answer. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to feel such strong affection for another – even among the Chosen Warriors.

“The team I sent after them hasn’t located them yet, but they’ve found some sign. Knowing Romanoff, she’s using this as a training exercise for the team sent after her, and they won’t locate her until they pass muster.”

Catriona laughed, a bell-like peal that made Coulson grin in response, then quickly hide it behind his hand. She continued to chuckle. “I hope that she takes pity on them, eventually. The Gifts which our Goddess grants her and Clint will make it very difficult for ordinary humans – no matter how well trained – to come upon them unaware. But what a merry chase it will be!”

“Can you tell me more about these gifts?” Coulson asked carefully. “Natasha’s letter said they are not new to her, but did not tell me how long she has had them – and the fact that she declined to inform me indicates there is some measure of secrecy.” 

“I think it’s a combination of her natural reticence and a desire not to have her Gifts taken advantage of,” Catriona sighed. “I’m afraid Great Mother – the Goddess – and I have both been forceful in communicating that her Gifts were to be used in Her service or at Her direction, and not as a tool for…” She waved a hand in the air, indicating the office around her. “Not as a tool for others to exploit,” she finished. “As I mentioned, I have had occasion to meet your director, and neither the Goddess nor I are confident that he would restrain himself from using her Gifts for his own purposes.”

“Director Fury is a complex man,” Coulson said evasively. He didn’t want to agree or disagree outright – it wasn’t politic to speak ill of your supervisor, and it was equally imprudent to offend a personage that had stepped into his locked office in a secured building without anyone the wiser.

“Fury is an ass,” Catriona retorted, pushing aside the tray of food and rising to pace. Coulson caught brief glimpses of her bare feet beneath the hem of her white robe – which he noted absently was unwrinkled despite several hours of sleep on his couch. “It isn’t his complexity or his demeanor which concerns me. He has ever had a purely singular focus – an absolute certainty that his methods are not only the best choices, but the only valid choices.” She paused, touching a finger to one eyelid. “I wonder what it is about eyepatches that makes monsters out of men.”

Coulson lifted an eyebrow. “Do you know enough men with eyepatches to constitute a suitable sample size?”

She turned to him, seeming surprised he had spoken, and laughed. “I suppose two is a rather small study, isn’t it? I apologize for speaking so of a man for whom you serve. As your guest, it was rude of me.” Catriona smiled at him, her eyes warm. “I beg your pardon, but it appears Natasha was correct – I do find you easy to talk to.”

“Romanoff is right more often than I care to admit.”

“She says much the same about you,” Catriona told him, her smile widening.

Coulson cleared his throat unnecessarily and attempted to steer the conversation away from Natasha – never Romanoff in his mind, always Natasha – and gestured to the remains of the lunch tray. “Are you still hungry? I can probably rustle up something else.”

“No, thank you,” Catriona answered. She slipped into one of the visitor’s chairs in front of his desk. “You’d think after twenty-three centuries I’d be better at waiting,” she murmured.

“Waiting for ordinary things, perhaps – but you said yourself that you don’t have many friends. How often have you sat waiting for someone to come home?” Coulson didn’t make eye contact, picking up a pen to make idle notes on a pad of paper. “Waiting for someone is always more difficult than waiting for something.”

Catriona tilted her head to the right, one finger twirling a curl absently. “Not often,” she admitted. She wondered how much of his life was spent waiting for people to return – and were those people always Clint and Natasha? “Does it get easier?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. The conversation lapsed, and they sat in silence together.

~ * ~

{Rookies,} Natasha remarked scornfully from her treetop perch.

{We can’t all have your training, Nat, or there wouldn’t be any trainees to beat up,} Clint replied. {Although I’ll admit, I expected better from a Coulson-picked team.}

There were four SHIELD agents below them on a game trail, searching for sign of human habitation or passage. They were doing a passable job, except for the fact that not a single one of them had looked up into the canopy.

{If we were hostiles, they’d have been dead ten times over,} she growled in his mind, and he wished he could laugh aloud at her.

{Once would be plenty, babe. Besides, they might stand a chance against thugs – it’s you and me that they haven’t a prayer against.}

{Babe? Really?}

{Honey? Sweetheart? Darling?} he volleyed back, a grin audible in his tone.

{You keep calling me those names, and you’ll find out if you’ve got a prayer against me.}

{Aw, now don’t be like that, Tash. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You’ve gotten all grim on me.}

Natasha sighed, audible to him because he was listening for it, but of no notice to the four agents below them. {I tried to warn you. My head isn’t a nice place to be.}

{Knock it off.} His jocularity disappeared, and his tone was more forceful. {I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone else insult you, I’m not going to have you doing it to yourself either. I didn’t sign up for sunshine and roses, Tash, I signed up for you.} His words hit her almost like a blow, and she had to concentrate on not reacting, not allowing tears to start. {And stop trying to block me from feeling you,} he continued. {I’m not asking you to change your emotions, I just want you to share them.}

{You hear that on Oprah?} she snapped.

{You’re not going to make me mad enough to leave, either,} he added softly.

She didn’t bother stopping the tears this time. He was right, she was baiting him – but she hadn’t known she was doing it until he called her out.

\\\M’inion, Boghdoir, it would please me if you would hear me,// Gaia interrupted. The partners exchanged startled glances through the foliage, but agreed. \\\Here in the jungle, untouched by man, my powers are strong. So, too, are your Gifts. You are too early in your bond to realize that you are feeding off of each other, each echoing emotions and fears, unable to distinguish them from your own.// Clint blinked, but didn’t interrupt. Natasha swiped irritably at her eyes. \\\You are both frightened,// the Goddess continued gently. \\\You have survived an ordeal and are not yet safe. You fear for your safety and for your bondmate’s safety. You fear the changes that the bond will make in your lives, and what it may mean to you as a working partnership. You both have these fears,// she stressed. \\\That fear is being amplified by your bond, and it is causing you to speak of things and in ways which you would not ordinarily do. For both your sakes, and because my Druid also awaits your return, I would ask that you cease your contemplation of your rescuers, and allow them to transport you home. Reassure Catriona Alanna, speak with your… Coulson, and find a way to spend several days together, that you may adjust to the bond in safety.//

\\\Yes, ma’am,// Clint answered immediately.

\\\Yes, Great Mother,// Natasha replied, her tone resigned. She began to make her way down the tree, followed by Clint, until they were at ground level again. Standing in the middle of the trail, she crossed her arms over her chest. “All four of you need a remedial course in situational awareness,” she told the backs of the agents walking in the game trail ahead of her, unaware of her presence.

Clint raised both his hands when the agents swung around, weapons at the ready. “Hey, don’t look at me. I tried to talk her out of an object lesson.”

“His call sign is a bird, and you didn’t think to look in the damned trees?” Natasha asked, tapping a finger against her elbow and shaking her head.

“Coulson will be very disappointed in you,” Clint agreed. “Do you think he’ll let us watch The Lecture, Romanoff? It’s so entertaining when he manages to make one cry.”

Natasha carefully mastered the smile that wanted to creep up, settling for shooting him a glance. From the agents’ perspective it could just as easily have been a glare, but her eyes were alight with mischief instead. “Ten bucks says one of ‘em quits at the hour mark,” she wagered, and moved towards the agents. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”


	4. Flight of Fancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Catriona discuss the implications of Clint and Natasha's bond, while the partners are mid-flight home.

~ * ~  
Catriona had retreated to Coulson’s couch and more sleep by the time word reached SHIELD that Agents Barton and Romanoff had been located safely and were en route to headquarters. 

Phil debated waking her. It would be several more hours before Clint and Natasha were here, even at the speed Clint was likely to get out of the new Stark tech. It seemed cruel to pull her from slumber just to have her sit in silence again. He rubbed his forehead, glad that the end of the traditional workday also meant a decrease in the number of crises he had to deal with. It was unusual for him to remain in his office this long, particularly with the door locked, but he’d explained it away as a classified operation, level 10 only, thank you. It wasn’t entirely a lie; Catriona’s presence in his office would be difficult enough to explain – her age and identity would send most agents to the medical ward for antipsychotics.

He decided to let her sleep, and wished he could do the same. If he was honest with himself, he never slept well when Clint and Natasha – when his agents were in the field. Berating himself for the mental lapse, Coulson rubbed his forehead again. A headache was building, despite his attempts to keep it at bay with coffee. Yes, he could blame his concern on the headache. He wasn’t worrying about Natasha and – he wasn’t worrying about his agents returning to headquarters safely. 

The agents, he corrected himself. Not mine. They report to me, and I am their handler, but they are Agents of SHIELD, not agents of Phil Coulson.

Catriona stirred in her sleep, drawing an arm up over her eyes. Phil stilled, hoping he hadn’t disturbed her. He relaxed minutely when she sighed and settled deeper into the couch. At least someone would get rest tonight. He doubted that Clint –

He stopped himself again. If he weren’t still at headquarters, this was the point at which he’d have poured himself a drink. Scotch, he decided. Although, perhaps in deference to his guest he should opt for whiskey. Not that he had any in his office. Fury probably did, but Phil wasn’t about to invade the Director’s office just for a drink.

No matter how much he wanted one.

Giving up on the pretense of working, the ruse of not caring, he rested both elbows on his desk and rubbed his temples clockwise, closing his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting that way when he felt slender fingers cover his own and jerked back, eyes popping open.

“My apologies,” Catriona said contritely. “I did not mean to startle you. You are in pain, and I would ease it,” she told him, her fingers returning to his temples. She rubbed for a moment, then looked at him contemplatively. “Do you have these often?” She was reaching her right hand into her left sleeve as though it were a pocket, and he was surprised to see her pull a small satchel from the sleeve and extract a sachet of what he supposed was tea.

“Often enough,” he replied tiredly.

Catriona raised an eyebrow. She wondered if he got one during every mission of Natasha’s – or was it Clint that he fretted for? She wasn’t certain. “Do you have a clean cup?” she asked.

He reached into his desk and drew out a coffee mug, emblazoned with the SHIELD logo. She set it on the desk beside her, dipped her fingers into the empty cup, and murmured a few words in a language he didn’t recognize. He must have blinked – the cup was now full of steaming water. Catriona dropped the sachet into it, twirling it in the hot liquid without regard to its temperature.

“That’s handy,” Phil commented.

Catriona smiled at him, and he was struck briefly by how very pretty she was – petite and delicate, like a porcelain fairy. Fragile appearing, though her stated age of twenty-three centuries proved that at least part of her fragility was illusory. “A great many of a Druid’s treatments are in the form of tea, so it behooves us to cultivate the ability to produce tea in all manner of situations.”

“My mother was a strong believer in tea,” Phil agreed. “When I was a boy, she treated everything from bruised knees to bruised egos with a cup of tea and a cookie.”

“She sounds like a sensible woman.” Catriona handed him the tea. “Drink this, treorai. It will ease the pain.”

He took the mug and sipped experimentally, surprised that it was not bitter. “What did you call me?” he asked, breathing on the tea to cool it.

“Did I? Oh, bother,” she fluttered her hands in the air. “I apologize. Natasha detests it when I do that. It means ‘guide’ in my native tongue. It seemed more appropriate that the childish endearments I usually use on my patients. I did not mean offense.”

“None taken.” He swallowed more tea, surprised that the headache was already receding. “What made you choose ‘guide?’”

She smiled again, this time with some sadness in the expression. “You remind me of someone I knew long ago. He was the master of many warriors, and always referred to himself not as their commander, but as their guide. He did not order them into battle, you see – he led them into it, fighting with them. A man who did not ask others to fight battles to which he would not commit his own life.” She shook her head, her gaze distant. “He would have liked you.”

Phil set aside the now empty mug and sat back in his chair to look up at her face. She stood next to his desk, one hand on the surface, the other pulling at a coppery curl. “Thank you,” he responded after she did not continue. “I am flattered.”

Catriona’s eyes returned to his, and he was relieved to see that the sadness had lifted somewhat. “Good.” She moved to the visitor’s chair across the desk from his own and sat again, tucking her legs under her. “Great Mother reminded me as I slept that I need to discuss the nature of Clint and Natasha’s bonds – those to the Goddess, and to each other.”

“To each other?” he repeated, and an emotion he didn’t want to name rose in his belly.

“Yes,” Catriona continued. She was watching him carefully although she took pains to make it appear natural. “They are what the Goddess calls achroi ghra – heart loves, soulmates, bondmates. In addition to the abilities that all Chosen Warriors are granted which I explained earlier, there are… other elements at play as well.”

“Soulmates?” he repeated, and wished he’d managed more than to parrot her words back at her again.

“That is an approximate translation, although there are nuances that don’t translate well.” She tilted her head, twisting curls through the fingers of her right hand absently. “Achroi ghra are not always lovers, although it is more common than not. I tell you this not to invade their privacy, but as their treorai you deserve to be informed. When I left them, the bond was too new to determine whether it would lead to physical intimacy. They love each other, though – I would consider it likely.”

“Fraternization between agents is against SHIELD policy,” he informed her. He repeated it in a tone not unlike a mantra.

How often had he said those words? Thought them? “That is why I am informing their treorai, their friend – not their SHILED handler,” Catriona explained patiently. “That is also why I recommend you keep this knowledge to yourself. Regardless of physical intimacy or lack thereof, they now share a telepathic bond that cannot be broken, save by death. When they work together, it will be as seamless as though they were of one mind. Their abilities will be sharpest together, their Gifts at peak efficiency. Separate… they will still be above average, still possessing of Gaia’s Gifts, but not at the same level as when they work together. And that,” she told him, pointing a finger at him, “is what you need to remember about their bond. Individually, they are probably half again as valuable as they were prior to accepting service to the Goddess. As a pair, I would put that increase at more than double – perhaps threefold.”

Phil nodded to indicate he’d understood, but he couldn’t decide how to respond. There were already rumors about how smoothly the pair worked together – so long as they were discreet, nothing would come of it. As long as he was not officially informed, he did not need to act on it or report it to Director Fury. Part of him wanted to, and he ruthlessly smothered that uncharitable thought. Informing the Director would mean putting an end to either the romantic relationship or the professional partnership. He didn’t actually want either of them to end… but envy burned, and he had to swallow against it before he could speak. “I will do my best to see that they continue to be partnered in the field,” he said finally.

“Thank you.” He was rewarded with another of her brilliant smiles. “There is one more thing… I believe it would be advisable for them to take some time away from SHIELD. A few days, perhaps a week, where they can explore their bond and become more comfortable with it and each other.”

“I can’t make promises,” Phil began, then shook his head resignedly. “I’ll see to it. After this mission, they’re entitled to a few days of R&R.”

Catriona leaned across the desk and touched his hand gently. “You’re a good friend to them, treorai.”

~ * ~

As usual, Gaia was right – Natasha was considerably more level-headed once they were in the recovery team’s jet and several thousand feet were between her and the muddy ground. She’d been unprepared for the difference between reaching for Gaia in a manicured park and reaching for her in untamed wilds. She hadn’t even considered that there would be a difference, much less a dramatic one.

Her eyes returned to Clint of their own accord. He piloted the jet skillfully, having rousted the SHIELD agent who had flown it here out of the pilot’s chair immediately upon embarking. The younger agent had grumbled, but a sharp look from Natasha had silenced his complaints. He sat now in the cabin with the other three agents, making no effort to disguise his discontent.

Sensing her eyes on him, Clint grinned. {You’re staring again, Sunshine,} he told her. {The kids will talk.}

{They aren’t skilled enough to be children,} Natasha retorted. {Babies, more like. And I don’t care if they talk. We’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.}

Clint counted it as a victory that she hadn’t vetoed that nickname – despite it being plucked from their earlier disagreement. It suited her. {Anti-fraternization rules, Nat. You know them as well as I do.}

{Have to prove it first,} she replied, kicking her feet up onto the edge of his seat. {You said it once already… they can’t intercept our telepathy.}

He shoved ineffectually at her feet. {Maybe not, but I’m pretty sure they’ll notice if we never actually talk out loud to each other. Plus, you keep crowding me.} He shoved again.

{I’ve always done that, Clint,} she told him with a half-smile. {Nothing new about that.} She nudged him with the toe of her boot, and he grunted. {Everyone thinks we’re sleeping together anyway,} she continued. {Last time Maria mentioned it, the bet wasn’t even if we were lovers, but when it started. She put down fifty bucks on Budapest, you know.}

Clint couldn’t restrain the laughter that comment generated. The agents in the cabin eyed him warily. He continued to chuckle, but spoke aloud now. “How big is the pot now?” he asked.

Natasha’s eyes flicked to the agents and back to him before she grinned. “Couple grand,” she said casually. “Hill won’t tell me the exact dollar amount. She did say she’d split it with me, if I wanted to give her insider information.” Her smile was more mischievous now, and she nudged him again with her boot. “Think it’s worth it?”

“Nah,” he responded, patting her boots in what he hoped looked like a nonchalant fashion. He was enjoying the verbal fencing. He liked leading people to believe a lie, despite being told the absolute truth. Maybe it appealed to the carnie in him. “It’s more fun to watch them guess.” She chuckled too, which unnerved the other agents even more. {Damn it, I hate it when they act surprised that you’re human,} he grumbled silently to her.

{Don’t worry about it. Part of my reputation.} She tossed her hair back, glaring back at the agents. {You wear the mask of a playboy, I wear the mask of an ice queen. Doesn’t matter, now.} She nudged him again with her foot, this time gently. {I can see past your mask, and you can see past mine.}

His hand brushed her boot, the touch as different now as her own had been. {Yeah, well. I didn’t like it before either. Keep wanting to grab them by the scruff of their necks and shake them like puppies and holler ‘Are you blind?’ Although I should be glad no one else has seen through your mask, or I might have had to fight off suitors.}

She snorted softly, almost inaudibly. {You could fight off suitors now. There’s plenty who want to notch the Black Widow on their bedpost.}

{I don’t want the Black Widow. I want Tasha,} he told her, and flashed her a quick, intimate smile.

Natasha didn’t answer him, but he knew from their bond that she wasn’t upset by his remark – just thinking. He settled back into the pilot’s chair, fingers of one hand resting on top of her crossed ankles.

~ * ~


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha return to Headquarters and are greeted by Phil and Catriona.

~ * ~  
Phil was standing off to the side of the landing pad when the rescue team's jet finally set down at headquarters. The four agents he had chosen for the mission disembarked first, followed by Clint and Natasha. He took in the details of their appearances, content that neither was injured. Relief made the fatigue pull harder at him, but he couldn’t rest yet. 

He directed the four younger agents to a debriefing room and assigned a handler to take their report. Clint and Natasha he instructed to follow him, leading them to his office ostensibly for their own debriefing. When they entered his office, though, Catriona launched herself at Natasha and Clint, relief making her as giddy as Phil was exhausted.

“We’re fine,” Natasha murmured in her ear as Catriona clung first to her and then to Clint. “I didn’t even shoot the rookies.”

“You thought about it,” Clint pointed out.

“They weren’t rookies,” Phil protested.

Natasha raised both eyebrows at him over Catriona’s head. “Right. That would be why they walked down a game trail, single file, in an Amazon jungle, and never looked into the canopy.”

Phil was unable to completely resist wincing. “I’ll take that into consideration,” he told her.

“We’d have taken the time to reeducate them ourselves,” Clint said, sinking carelessly onto the couch, “but Big Mama wanted us out of there and home quick, fast, and in a hurry.”

“Big Mama?” Phil repeated, puzzled. Catriona laughed delightedly.

“I take it She did not object to that name?” the druid asked, sitting down gracefully next to Clint. Natasha tucked herself on Catriona’s other side, seeming to know the druid wanted touch and comfort.

“Nope. Thought I might get struck down by lightning when it first popped out, but she liked it.” Clint grinned. “Called me an imp.”

“You are an imp,” Natasha and Phil agreed in unison.

Clint began to laugh again, and soon all four were chuckling. When the laughter passed, Clint tipped his head back on the couch and sighed. “I know it’s only been, like, twenty-four hours, but I could swear it’s been ten years since we left for that mission. I’m exhausted.”

“Well, you did nearly die,” Natasha reminded him.

Phil’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“I hadn’t mentioned that,” Catriona said apologetically. “I didn’t want him to worry.” More, she added in her head. Didn’t want him to worry more.

“Broke my back,” Clint told his handler. “Paraplegic. Might have gone quad, if Catriona hadn’t shown up.”

Phil’s gaze shifted to Catriona, who shrugged. “Not all Druidic treatments are through tea,” she told him. “I had not the energy to heal you as I did Clint, despite your headache being a considerably smaller effort.”

“Headache?” Natasha repeated, frowning at Phil. She didn’t like to think of him in pain.

“You tell me that Clint was paralyzed and shrug it off, but you’re concerned that I had a headache?” Phil asked incredulously. He shook his head. “Natasha, you never cease to amaze me.”

Natasha’s answering look was thoughtful. “Wouldn’t want to be too predictable.”

Phil sighed, running a hand over his tired eyes. “Catriona has asked me to arrange for you to have a few days off. It certainly sounds as though you have earned them. Consider yourself on vacation for the next ten days. Get some rest. Try not to kill anyone.”

Clint saluted, purposefully badly, and grinned. “I don’t feel like dealing with termination paperwork on vacation, so I’ll avoid killing. I’ll just let Tasha handle it, and you’ll never even know it happened.”

{Leave off, Clint,} Natasha told him silently, even as she chuckled aloud at his response. {Something’s off with Phil. I don’t want to push him.}

{Right-o,} he agreed immediately. He’d seen the tension in Phil’s body too, the tight rein he was keeping on himself. {You think he’s upset with us? About the bond?}

{Not sure,} Natasha answered. {Could just be tired. We’ll have to keep an eye on him.}

“I think we should go visit the farm,” Clint told Natasha aloud, meeting her eyes over Catriona’s curls. The druid had nestled into the couch, tucking herself up against both of them, touching at as many points of contact as she could manage. {Maybe bring Catriona?}

“I’d love to see Laura and the kids,” Natasha agreed. {As long as she’s got the time, sure. I don’t know what Great Mother keeps her busy with.}

“I’ll call Laura when I get back to my bunk,” Clint said, and yawned. “Or maybe after I’ve grabbed a few hours.” He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “And had a shower. And a sandwich.”

“The correct order of operations is shower, sandwich, sleep,” Coulson informed him. “Or so you told me after your last mission.”

Clint grunted. “Shower, sandwich, sleep, family. Roger that.” He dragged himself back to a standing position. “I’m going to go start that.”

“Goodnight, Agent Barton,” Phil told him. Clint saluted him again, with much less irreverence.

Natasha put an arm around Catriona. “You going to stay here tonight, achara?”

Catriona looked at Phil, nodded his approval. “As long as I will not be a bother,” she answered. “I am not quite rested enough to plane-walk out of the building, and my suddenly appearing in the hallway would likely cause alarm.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Phil told her. He covered a yawn. “I, on the other hand, am going to retreat to my quarters and my own rest. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss O’Clare.” He nodded respectfully in her direction. “Glad to have you back safely, Agent Romanoff.” He nodded in Natasha’s direction as well and left the office, pulling the door shut behind him.

Natasha let out a long breath and relaxed into the couch. She kept the arm around Catriona because the simple touch was comforting. “Has he been wound that tight the whole time?” Natasha asked her.

“Very much so,” Catriona answered. “He seemed taken aback by your bonding. Not your service to the Goddess – that he seemed to accept without question. Clint’s as well. It was the achroi ghra bond that discomfited him.”

“Hmmm.” Natasha pondered that, letting her body relax and feeling exhaustion pull at her as well. “Well, there are rules about fraternization. Maybe he was concerned professionally?”

Catriona pulled back far enough to look her in the eye, and shook her head slowly. “His ties towards each of you are more intricate than I would expect, for a merely professional concern. They are, in point of fact, his two strongest ties.” She frowned. “I didn’t think of that earlier, when I was explaining your bond. I might have been more diplomatic, had I considered his feelings.”

“Phil doesn’t allow himself to have feelings,” Natasha retorted. 

“Not having them and not showing them are not the same thing, achara, and you know it,” Catriona contradicted. “I am certain that he does have feelings – he certainly had a tension headache. One must care to some extent, to accumulate that much tension.”

Natasha yawned and debated between curling up with Catriona on the couch or dragging herself to her empty quarters. “Clint would like to know if you’d like to visit the farm with us,” Natasha told her, snagging one of the blankets from Catriona’s earlier nap. “Meet Laura and the kids.” She tucked the blanket around herself and Catriona, curling around the druid like she would Cooper when he wanted to have a slumber party with Auntie Nat.

“I would be honored,” Catriona replied, her voice already fuzzy with sleep. “But I do not wish to intrude on your time together.”

“Wouldn’t have invited you if we didn’t mean it, achara,” Natasha told her firmly, stifling another yawn. She debated getting up to turn off the office light, but decided she was too comfortable. She didn’t allow herself the luxury of sleeping beside someone else often, even Clint. They had shared a bed chastely from time to time on missions, but it was difficult for her to completely relax with someone else present. She wasn’t having that difficulty with Catriona, and didn’t know if it was a change in herself, or a difference in Catriona.

“Sleep well, Natasha,” Catriona murmured finally, before dropping off to sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” Natasha whispered, and let slumber claim her as well.  
~ * ~


End file.
